


Other Lines of Work

by Caryl (Starshone), Rhiannon87



Series: Words With Friends [1]
Category: Uncharted
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Investigative Journalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 19:59:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starshone/pseuds/Caryl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhiannon87/pseuds/Rhiannon87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's an idealistic investigative journalist! She's a cynical chauffeur -- er, getaway driver! THEY FIGHT CRIME!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Other Lines of Work

There are a number of things Elena misses about living in California, but the parking is not one of them. As she locks her rental car and starts the ridiculous walk to where she’s supposed to be meeting her contact (one Fiona Maxwell), she somewhat regrets taking the tip from Paul and coming back to California for it. But his bare bones rundown of the situation had been just intriguing enough to spark her curiosity, so here she is, walking to one of her former favorite meeting places--

And checking her phone as it buzzes in her pocket. This close to a meeting, it could be her tipper bailing, but it turns out it’s just an alert on Draw Something for Chloe’s latest scribble. Elena squints at it briefly before heading inside the restaurant.

Paul’s description of Fiona had been just as thin as the tip: dark hair, dark blue jacket, easy on the eyes. Elena sighs and glances around the restaurant. Maybe this contact will recognize her-- she stops and does a double-take when she spots Chloe sitting at a corner table. What the hell is she doing here? Chloe being in California isn’t that strange. Chloe being in California at the same time as Elena _and_ in the same restaurant as her? Kind of weird.

Elena checks her watch and glances around the restaurant again. She’s a couple minutes early, she can at least say hello before tracking down this contact. “Hey, Chloe,” she calls as she heads for the table. “Small world, huh?”

Chloe puts away her phone once she makes eye contact, and though she’s smiling, she also looks somewhat distracted. “Sure seems like it, sunshine. I didn’t know you were in town.”

“I’m just here for a couple days,” she says and looks around the restaurant again. “I’m actually supposed to be meeting a contact...” Something clicks as she glances back at Chloe. Dark hair, dark blue jacket... “Oh. You’re not. Are you?” Elena raises her eyebrows. “Fiona?”

Halfway through a sip of water, Chloe chokes, but waves her off as she coughs through it. “Alright,” she gets out at last. “You caught me. What are the odds? I was expecting Paul would send me a local.”

“He owes me a few favors, so he still throws me tips every now and then,” Elena says and pulls out the chair across from Chloe. Of all the possible sources... well, at least she wouldn’t have to go through the song-and-dance of getting a paranoid tipper to trust her. “He was pretty light on the details. What’s going on?”

Chloe glances around the room (Elena catches her gaze fixing on a point above and behind her) before leaning in closer to answer, her voice dropping. “A friend of mine got me this job that, strangely, doesn’t involve high speed chases or gunfights, just driving from point A to point B--”

“You’re a chauffeur,” Elena says, trying not to smile at the mental image.

“Well,” sighs Chloe. “In this economy...”

“Hi!” chirps a girl nearby. Elena glances up to see their waiter. “I’m Courtney, and I’ll be your server this evening. Can I get you anything to drink to start with?”

Elena sighs, trying to contain her annoyance at the interruption. “Just water for me, thanks,” she says.

“Sure!” Courtney says. “I’ll be back in a few minutes with our daily specials.”

Elena makes a face as she hurries off. “The service has gotten better since I was here last,” she grumbles.

Chloe raises an eyebrow. “It took me almost five minutes to get this water,” she says.

“They used to only stop at a table two, maybe three times,” Elena says. “That’s why I liked this place for interviews. Almost no interruptions.” She pulls out her notebook and thumbs it open to a clean page. “So, you were telling me about your chauffeur job?” she prompts with an amused smirk. She couldn’t help it. The mental image of Chloe wearing a suit and one of those silly hats while driving a limo through Sacramento traffic was pretty entertaining.

“I’m the best in the _legal_ business too,” Chloe says with a mock-offended sniff, and when Elena continues to smirk, she adds, “Look, there isn’t a lot of work at the moment and I’m paying rent on four and a half places in three different currencies. A semi-permanent address in this country is good for business, but it has its price tag.”

“Okay,” says Elena, lifting her hands in surrender. “I’m not judging. But something tells me you weren’t looking for a reporter to complain about the economy.”

Chloe takes a long drink of water and another glance around the room before going on.

“My client likes to speak French to his friends, especially around the staff,” she says. “His accent’s atrocious, but I haven’t said anything because I don’t really care if he’s screwing the secretary or whoever it is this week. And no,” she adds. “This isn’t a sex scandal.”

“If it was, I’d have given you the numbers of a few gossip columnists here who’d love the scoop,” Elena says dryly.

Chloe’s smile seems a bit forced. “So I was driving him and a mate last week to this new Italian restaurant, and I’m mostly tuning them out, just trying to keep from correcting his pronunciation, until he mentions-- my friend.” Chloe hesitates for a second before clarifying. “The one who got me the job.”

“What’s your friend’s connection?” Elena asks absently, drawing lines between her notes.

“Well, it’s gone sour now,” Chloe says, poking at the ice cubes in her glass with her straw. It occurs to Elena that she still hasn’t gotten her water. Not that she wants Courtney to come back anytime soon. “Sounded like he was gloating -- I tuned in and he was so proud of himself for getting her to adjust something in his finances even though she didn’t want to.” Again, Chloe glances up to what Elena now suspects is a security camera behind her. “He said he’d have her arrested if she didn’t, and I’m thinking, no wonder she always looks so miserable at work lately, she always said she was okay --”

“Chloe --”

“So his friend says, well, hopefully she knows you’re serious, not like that dumb bitch you had before her --”

“ _Chloe_.” Elena sets down her pen and pushes her notebook aside, leaning forward over the table. This is going nowhere good, and Chloe’s just talking in circles.

“And it sounded like this has been going on for _years_. I’m hardly an expert on Californian history, but they were talking about -”

“Chloe!” Elena risks raising her voice a little to cut into Chloe’s rambling. Chloe cuts off mid-sentence and blinks at her. Elena sighs. “Who’s your client?”

Chloe looks fairly miserable as she leans forward, her elbows on the table and her shoulders slumped. She glances up at the presumed camera again before speaking. “Lieutenant Governor Robert Leavitt,” she half-mumbles.

Elena’s jaw drops. “Wha--”

“Here’s your water!” Courtney announces, and Chloe jerks back. “Our specials today are--”

“We’re, uh, we’re fine,” Elena cuts in. “We’re still looking.” She taps the closed, untouched menus in front of them. Courtney’s face falls, and Elena makes a mental note to leave the poor kid a decent tip.

“Well, just let me know when you’re ready!” Courtney says, trying to put the smile back on, and she scurries off.

Elena takes a sip of water and looks back at Chloe. She hadn’t exactly been expecting to uncover a corruption scandal involving the Lieutenant Governor when she’d stepped off the plane. “I need anything else you can give me,” Elena says, pulling her notebook towards her again. “Names of anybody else who might be involved, anything else suspicious you might’ve heard...” She trails off and starts scribbling down notes, ideas for what her next steps might be. “Can you ask your friend to -”

“Absolutely not,” Chloe says firmly. “She’s been through a lot already: some guy she was in love with was murdered, her brother disappeared a few years ago and they still won’t give her a death certificate... She moved to California for a fresh start, and as brilliantly as _that’s_ going, I still don’t want to put her in more danger than she already is.”

Elena frowns, but it’s the most sure Chloe’s looked of anything since she sat down. “Wow, Chloe,” she says quietly. “You’re really sticking your neck out for this friend.”

Recognition of her own words dawns on Chloe’s face, and she shrugs, looking a little embarrassed. “We have a lot in common.”

Recognizing that the friend was a dead end, Elena decides to let it drop. There are other angles she can take on this. “What about Leavitt’s friend?” she asks. “He have a name?”

*

“Twenty dollars for water,” Chloe mutters, as soon as Elena closes the door.

“We sat there for an hour and a half and didn’t order anything,” Elena says.

“ _Twenty dollars_ ,” Chloe feels the need to repeat. She will never understand tipping culture. “I thought the guideline was eighteen percent.” And eighteen percent of zero was _not_ twenty dollars.

Elena waves a hand dismissively. “Do you need a ride back to your place?” she asks, apparently done trying to defend her insane overpayment.

Chloe shakes her head. “I’m parked not too far off from here. And maybe I’m being paranoid, but we probably shouldn’t be seen together too much.”

“Probably a good idea,” Elena says. “I’ll see what I can dig up. It might take a few days, though. You should try to keep acting normal-- show up to work and everything.”

“I can do normal,” Chloe says, her smile a little grim. “Especially if it means I might overhear more potential leads. Besides, I look surprisingly good in the uniform hat.”

Elena smirks back and nods. “If you can get any more information, that would be great, but don’t risk yourself or your friend for it. I know a few people in town who should be able to help me out.”

“Of course not,” says Chloe, somewhat appalled that Elena Fisher of all people is telling her not to risk herself or someone else for something. Tipping off that old coworker of hers had been a big enough risk already, and having it go to someone she knows is only mildly reassuring: sure, she knows fighting injustice and saving innocent people is Elena’s thing, but it’s her first time working with Elena on her own investigative turf rather than in the treasure hunting industry. “You’ll keep me updated, yeah? It’ll be nice to have some warning if I need to go job hunting again.”

“Probably ought to start job hunting now,” Elena replies with a wry smile. “If this is as bad as you’re saying, your employer isn’t gonna have much need for any kind of staff in a few weeks.”

“Tell Nate I’m putting him down as a reference again.”

“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.” Elena glances around the mostly empty street. “We probably ought to get going. I’ll call you when I have something.”

Chloe looks down the intersection, but hesitates before turning. “Elena? Thanks.”

Elena smiles. “You’re welcome,” she says. “Be careful.”

*

Elena looks up from her reading at the sound of a knock on her hotel room door. She glances around at the nest of printouts, notes, and laptop she’s made, then clears a path to the edge of the bed. She grabs a handful of cash from her purse to pay for dinner, and once she’s got the bag of delicious-smelling fried food in hand, settles in at the small table by the windows. She doesn’t want to get ketchup on her notes. Again.

Even though taking a break while she’s eating would probably be the better idea, Elena pulls out her phone and scrolls through her contacts one-handed until she find’s Chloe’s latest number. It’s been a few days, and she might as well give her an update on the situation. As the phone starts to ring, Elena clicks it over to speakerphone and sets it on the table, then starts unpacking her dinner.

The phone rings a few more times than Elena had expected (was Chloe working tonight?) before Chloe picks up. “Hey.”

“Hey, Chloe,” Elena says. “I wanted to let you know how things are going-- do you have a minute?”

She can hear another woman’s voice, faint and further away, and Chloe says something muffled, then adds, clearly, “Yeah, I’d love to hear it.”

Elena frowns slightly, then shrugs. “Well, it’s not going as well as I’d like,” she says. “I’ve managed to get enough dirt on that friend of his that _he’d_ probably wind up in prison, but not enough to do anything about Leavitt.”

“Oh, no,” says Chloe, sounding more comforting than Elena would have thought. “That’s too bad.”

Elena pauses with a french fry halfway to her mouth. Chloe had been pretty upset by the whole situation when they’d last talked. Either something has changed and Chloe no longer cares-- unlikely-- or for some reason, she can’t speak freely right now. Since Chloe also doesn’t seem to be trying to escape from the phone call, Elena decides she might as well keep filling her in. “I’m leaning on some other contacts in town, but it might be a few more days before I get anywhere.” If she gets anywhere at all. There aren’t many people here who owe her favors. “Are you sure your friend can’t--”

“No, of course not,” Chloe says emphatically. “Why would you even think I’d need a reminder not to bring satay to your potluck dinner? I know your husband’s allergic to peanuts.”

Elena rolls her eyes. So much for that. “Then I guess Nate’s been eating all those peanut butter and banana sandwiches to build up an immunity,” she replies dryly. She sighs and rubs a hand across her forehead. “That’s really all I’ve got right now. If you hear or see anything, let me know. But be careful.” Chloe probably doesn’t need the reminder, but it’s habit by now.

“Yeah, of course,” says Chloe. “See you at the dinner.”

Chloe hangs up, and Elena’s getting back to eating her dinner when her phone lights up with a text a few minutes later: “got my frend ovr sry” Well. That explains that, at least. Elena looks at the mess of papers waiting for her, then checks her watch. It’s not too late in Florida; she can probably catch Nate before he goes to bed. Then back to work.

*

> **Unknown number**  
>  found these in his car  
>  IMG_0024.JPG  
>  IMG_0025.JPG  
>  IMG_0026.JPG  
>  IMG_0027.JPG
> 
> **Elena Fisher**  
>  Who is this?
> 
> **Unknown number**  
>  Fiona  
>  sry
> 
> **Elena Fisher**  
>  Oh.  
>  Are these the best quality pics you got?
> 
> **Fiona Maxwell**  
>  i had abt 2 min 2 get these  
>  yes
> 
> **Elena Fisher**  
>  Okay.  
>  I’ll see what I can get from them. Kind of hard to read.  
>  Any idea what the docs were about?
> 
> **Fiona Maxwell**  
>  funding 4 nxt campaign  
>  contacts - priv8 phone lines  
>  i think
> 
> **Elena Fisher**  
>  Okay, thanks.  
>  I’ll let you know if I’m able to get anything from these.

*

Chloe's not stupid. She knows her latest phone's camera isn't the best and the lighting made the photos even worse. She knows a brush off when she reads one. And she knows, when the Lieutenant Governor says on the phone that someone's snooping around and they need to destroy the evidence, that she needs to move fast.

This isn't her finest work, she knows that too. She'd rather have a full on diversion set up, ideally a person who can stall for more time if needed, but there isn't anyone here who trusts her enough to take that risk for her, bar Elena, who's probably pretty unimpressed with her already after those poor quality cellphone photos. Instead, all she has is ten stolen minutes. She's cultivated a habit of turning up with the car fifteen minutes early to appointments, "just in case," she tells the Lieutenant Governor, even though the earliest he's ever been is five minutes and it's slightly more likely for his appointments to run over time. (Before this whole blackmail thing came up, the most interesting part of her job had been getting him places on time despite his coming out late from the last one.) Any earlier might arouse suspicion; any later definitely would.

She's picking him up from the State Capitol later than usual tonight. Some kind of closed-door meeting with a few Senate committee chairs or something like that. As much as she suspects he won't get out on time, she'd rather not risk this being the one time he's early.

Chloe pulls up to her usual idle spot by the door, but rather than pulling out her phone and trying to come up with a word that has the letter V (Elena beats her at this game all the time), she leaves the car idling and gets out for a quick chat with security. This kid knows her by now, so it only takes an excuse about needing the restroom and a smile to get her inside.

She heads in the direction of the nearest restroom until she's sure she's out of sight, and then she changes course for the Lieutenant Governor's office, carefully aiming for the security cameras' blind spots. In the stillness of the mostly empty Capitol, her dress shoes sound too loud on the mosaic floors. Idly, Chloe wishes she had her gun, but her suit's just form-fitting enough that it would show.

Leavitt's office doesn't have cameras, she suspects so there's no record of what he brags about doing with the secretary. It works out better for her, as she slips behind his desk looking at the door rather than for any cameras. She holds up a tiny LED flashlight to check the speakers are off before she boots up his computer and plugs in one of the two USB flash drives from her pocket. The hacker who'd sold this to her had tried to explain brute force attacks to her (she'd been picturing Charlie beating up a merc on a job in Casablanca; computers don’t make as much sense to her as cameras) before giving up and just telling her the program on it could guess passwords fast, and it certainly does that well: in thirty seconds, she's in.

She switches USB sticks to an empty one and clicks around. The finances folder sounds promising, so she starts copying it to the empty flash drive. Employee records too, perhaps -- he could have made good on his threat of arrest with some long ago employee, and that abrupt firing before the end of a contract would show. She clicks, drags, and compares the time remaining for the copying to finish to the time remaining for the meeting.

"Hurry up," Chloe mutters.

Rather than stew anxiously, she eases open a nearby drawer, memorizing the way it's laid out now, and rifles through the folders there. One has a red X in the corner, which one of the paper pushing interns said is how Leavitt marks documents he wants shredded, so she opens it, pulling the small digital SLR camera Charlie got her for Christmas from another pocket. She's already preset it to macro mode with a high ISO, so when she holds her flashlight up, she's confident these will be much better quality than the photos she took with her phone only yesterday. She snaps, glancing at the file transfer and the door between every photo.

It seems an eternity before the files are copied over. She puts the paper folders back the way she found them, pulls the USB stick from the computer (life's too short to safely eject external memory, she always thinks; Harry never did), and shuts it down, not bothering to wait for it to shut down all the way before she leaves the office, gadgets back in her pockets. Her heartrate's up as she heads back out to the exit, and Chloe realizes with a jolt that she's _smiling_ \-- the stakes may not be as immediately high as a good drive with someone shooting at her, but _oh_ , she'd missed this.

The security guy's looking a little suspicious and a little curious when she returns (still within the ten minutes she'd given herself but probably a bit long for the bathroom), but just nods sympathetically when she says, "I had a bad tacquito for dinner. You know that place over in Natomas?"

Leavitt's seventeen minutes late and complaining about the Education committee as soon as he gets in the car. Chloe smiles, and nods along to his whining, making the appropriate noises of sympathy when necessary.

*

Entering her hotel room is a delicate struggle of getting her key card back into her pocket and trying to balance her bag, notebook, and coffee, but when Elena sees Chloe sitting on her bed and tapping her phone into her hand, she nearly drops everything.

“Chloe,” Elena starts, scrambling to set her things down; Chloe immediately stands. “How did you get into -- how did you even _find_ my --”

“I’ve been trying to call you,” Chloe cuts in.

“My phone died,” Elena explains. Time for a new battery, she suspects. “You could’ve left a message at the front desk, breaking into my room is--”

“Gretchen’s been arrested,” Chloe blurts out.

Elena blinks at her. “Who?”

“My friend,” Chloe says impatiently. “The one who was being blackmailed?”

“Of course,” she says faintly and dumps her non-coffee belongings on the desk. It’s been five days since Chloe had given her a USB flash drive of much more useful files, and she’s been busy chasing down leads. “When? And how? And why?”

“This morning,” Chloe says, starting to pace. “Officially it’s for attempted extortion -- Leavitt’s claiming _she_ was trying to blackmail _him_.”

Elena pulls out the desk chair and sinks into it. “Are you serious?” she mutters, more to herself than Chloe, and rubs a hand over her eyes. “Blackmailing him over what?”

Chloe makes a face. “His affair with the secretary. His story’s that she’s making it up because she wants a raise.”

“And I’m guessing he really had her arrested because of my investigation,” Elena says. With a sigh, she sets down her coffee and digs her notebook and a pen out of her bag. And things had been going so well today, too.

“It was because of _me_ ,” Chloe says. “He _was_ on edge because of your investigation, so he put a -- I think it’s called a keylogger -- on his computer, and he could see what I copied. He thought it was her.”

Chloe sits back down on the bed and buries her face in her hands. Elena lets out a slow breath. “I was gonna call you when I got back,” she says. “The files you got me were everything I needed-- between the discrepancies in his financials and his friend’s highly irregular tax records, there’s more than enough to get a formal investigation going.” Her plan had been to call Chloe with the good news, then call her network and ask for a camera crew ASAP. She’d been composing the report in her head on the way up to her room. But none of that would help Chloe’s friend.  

“That’s great,” Chloe says dully, without lifting her head. “I don’t suppose there’s enough to get ten thousand dollars for her bail?”

“Um. No.” Elena shakes her head. “I mean, the official investigation might eventually turn up a forgery, or he might drop the case against her to deal with this, but... that’s not a guarantee. And it’d probably take too long, anyway. We need to find a way to clear her name.”

“And how are we going to do that?” Chloe asks and finally looks up.

Elena hesitates for a second. “I’m not sure yet,” she says slowly. “These blackmail letters-- were they letter-letters or e-mails?”

“E-mails,” Chloe says.  “The techies say it was definitely sent from Gretchen’s computer.”

Elena picks up her coffee and takes a sip, mulling over options. “If they were sent from her computer, but she didn’t send them, then someone else must have had access.“ She stares thoughtfully across the room, then refocuses her attention on Chloe. “I need to talk to the rest of his staff,” she says. “Someone might have seen something--”

“But they won’t want to talk about it,” Chloe cuts in. “Gretchen’s arrest seemed to come out of the blue, it’s got everyone scared that it’s going to be them next. They’re not going to open up to a curious stranger.”

“You’d be surprised what people will share with a curious stranger,” Elena replies. “But I see your point.” She frowns, staring at Chloe, then brightens. “They know you, though,” she says. “And they’d probably trust another staffer more than they’d trust me.”

“Oh, sunshine,” Chloe drawls, her expression wry. “I see where this is going.”

Elena offers an apologetic smile. “I could write up a list of questions for you to ask them.”

Chloe flops back onto the bed with a sigh. “Fine,” she says. “Hit me.”

*

“You’re right, Dolores,” says Chloe, trying not to check her phone. “That intern was an asshat.”

“Ooh,” says the clerk, momentarily sidetracked from her complaining about one of the press interns they’d had recently. “That sounds so cute in your accent -”

And off she goes again, this time about some of the volunteers. Chloe nods when necessary, wondering how she got so far from asking about seeing people where they shouldn’t be (she’s pretty sure at least one of the volunteers has been here longer than she has?), until finally she’s saved by her phone alarm going.

“Well,” she says, leaning over to the computer. This has not helped Gretchen’s case in the slightest. “Looks like it’s time for me to knock off. Good luck with Steve, alright?”

“Thanks, Chloe, you’re a dear,” says Dolores.

Chloe can’t clock out fast enough. Her irritation with the utter uselessness of that interview doesn’t fade on her way to the cafe, and when she catches sight of Elena, the first thing out of her mouth is, “Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of whining about uni students.”

Elena doesn’t look up from poking at her phone. “When it’s forty minutes and a deputy prime minister whining about the German ambassador, then you can talk,” she says dryly. She glances up from her phone and does a double-take, clearly fighting back a grin. “Nice hat.”

Chloe scowls and takes it off her head as she sits down. Coming straight from work, she’d forgotten to change into her street clothes. “Don’t you dare take photos.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Elena promises and very deliberately puts her phone in her pocket. “I take it the interviews didn’t get you much?”

“Not today,” Chloe says with a sigh, glancing over Elena’s shoulder at the menu behind the counter. “Just weirdly self important interns and lost volunteers.”

Elena looks more intrigued by that description than Chloe had expected. “Lost volunteers?” she asks. “What was going on with them?”

“Just new kids who didn’t pay enough attention on the tour,” Chloe explains, wondering if they put real pumpkin in pumpkin spice lattes. “Went looking for the loos and ended up in the offices, that kind of thing.”

“Do you think one of them could have gotten into Gretchen’s computer?” Elena asks and glances up from her notebook. “If no one was around the office…”

“Probably not,” says Chloe. “She was here for an office-wide notice to make your password more secure just before the volunteers started. Hell, IT said she had to call them because she locked herself out of her desktop for putting in the wrong password too many times, so I don’t think some kid could have guessed it.”

“Good point.” Elena taps her pen against her notebook thoughtfully, then starts writing again. “But that means someone from the capitol’s IT would have been on her computer, too,” she says. “Maybe Leavitt leaned on someone there and got them to send the e-mails while they were at it.”

“She would have been there so she could make up a new password,” Chloe says dismissively. “I doubt they’d pull that right in front of her --” She pauses, remembering something Leavitt had mentioned in the car the week before. “But maybe it wasn’t _capitol_ IT: He was telling his assistant to get a contractor in for security software upgrades last week, something that would take a while so could she schedule it while everyone was in a meeting…”

Elena frowns. “A contractor,” she repeats, leaning over to pull something from the backpack at her feet. She sets a thick sheaf of printouts on the table and starts rifling through them. “Was the security upgrade before or after you grabbed these?” she asks and gestures with the stack of papers.

Chloe’s eyes widen, all thoughts of strange lattes forgotten. “After -- and it was the day the first e-mail was sent, so he could have sent it.” She frowns. “Hang on, he was only here for one day--”

“Maybe there’s a way to send them out automatically,” Elena says, frowning. “We know that Gretchen didn’t send them, so he must have had _some_ way...” She pulls out some of the pages, tapping the first one. “There are a few invoices for IT work from an Anton de la Cruz,” she says. “Does that name ring a bell?”

“Yeah,” says Chloe, thinking hard. “One of the security guards mentioned having to make him another temporary access card; he remembered the guy because he was acting pissy when he came to pick up the card.”

Elena nods as she flips through the pages. “It looks like he’s done a fair amount of work for Leavitt,” she says. “The payments are always off, though. Leavitt overpaid by a few hundred on all but the latest one, from a couple months ago.”

Chloe leans forward, trying to read the invoices upside down. “And I’m guessing you don’t tip in IT, especially not to the tune of a few hundred dollars. Even _you_ wouldn’t tip that much.”

Elena gives Chloe a look. “No, you don’t tip your IT guy,” she says dryly. “And he didn’t overpay on the last job-- he underpaid. By about five hundred dollars.”

Chloe whistles. “No wonder he was pissed off this time.”

“I’ll say,” Elena agrees. She leans back in her chair and gives Chloe a crooked smile. “You interested in paying this de la Cruz guy a visit?”

“I’m in,” Chloe replies, returning the smile. This IT nerd won’t know what hit him.

*

After getting their drinks (a coffee for Elena, a ‘weird pumpkin thing-- I just need to see what it is’ for Chloe) and detouring to Chloe’s apartment so she could change out of the uniform, Chloe drives them across town to the address listed on the invoice. It turns out not to be an office building, but a mid-sized apartment complex. They park a few blocks away and walk over, Elena running through potential questions to ask on the way.

There’s a buzzer and a list of names by the front door. Plenty of them are scratched out, halfway peeled off, or just plain missing, but Elena’s able to find a listing for de la Cruz, A. without too much trouble. “Here he is,” she says and reaches out to hit the buzzer.

Chloe slams a hand over the buzzer, covering it without actually pressing it. “Hang on,” she says. “We need to get our story straight. It’s too late in the day for FedEx --”

Elena blinks at her. “I was planning on telling him the truth,” she says slowly, like it should be obvious. “I’m a reporter and I wanted to talk to him about his work for Leavitt.”

“Who lets in reporters when they don’t think they’ve done anything news-worthy?” Chloe asks.

“In my experience? Lots of people,” Elena says. People were reluctant to talk to the police, sure, but a reporter promised fifteen minutes of fame. “I can’t lie to him, Chloe, there are ethical standards that journalists have to abide by--”

“We’re delivering pizza,” Chloe says firmly.

“The odds that he ordered a pizza this afternoon aren’t that great,” Elena replies. “And I _can’t_ lie to him about why I’m here!” Chloe had skipped right over that part of her argument. Lying about who she was and what she was doing was something to be avoided unless absolutely necessary. She hasn’t found it necessary yet in her career, and she wants to keep that record. Lying to someone to get them to give up information would damage her credibility and the credibility of the story. Given the stakes, she needs to keep everything on this one above-board.

Chloe looks like she’s about to argue further, but she glances sideways as a man with a keyring in his hand approaches and unlocks the front door. Without another word, she follows him inside.

“What’re you--” Elena starts, then lunges at the door to grab it before it closes. Chloe’s already halfway to the stairs, and she hurries after her. “What the hell are you doing?” she hisses once she’s caught up.

“Not lying,” Chloe replies primly, without looking back at her.

Elena lets out an aggravated sigh. No wonder Chloe and Nate got along so well. “He’s in 309,” she grumbles as they start up the stairs.

There aren’t many people home this time of day, so it’s mostly quiet as they walk down the hallway. Elena stops outside 309 and glances at Chloe, then raps on the door. Hopefully de la Cruz is home. She’s not quite sure what they’ll do if they have to end up waiting around for him--

The door opens a crack. “Hello?”

Elena puts on her best friendly reporter smile. “Mr. de la Cruz?” The man on the other side of the door nods, and Elena continues before Chloe can claim to be from the gas company or something to get into his apartment. “My name’s Elena Fisher. I’m an investigative journalist, and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about Lieutenant Governor Leavitt.”

“Uh, I’m not really political, sorry,” he says, inching back. “Maybe try across the hall--”

“I was actually wondering about the job you did for him a couple months ago,” she says. “The one where he shortchanged you five hundred dollars?” They could get around to what he was up to last week later.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. “Yeah, I’ve done some work for him, but he’s never --”

“We have the invoices,” Chloe interrupts, rolling her eyes.

“You have-- how do you--”

Elena winces slightly. “I have some sources in his office,” she says. “I know what he’s been doing-- the theft, the blackmail. He’s taken money from you, too, as far as I can tell. Do you want to help me take him down or not?” Something of a risk, telling him everything up front -- Chloe’s already got a hand to her face -- but she has to convince him to work with her. He won’t trust her if she doesn’t show that she trusts him.

The door closes, and Elena sighs in disappointment, but a second later it opens completely, revealing a wary looking man and a messy apartment. Chloe shoots her a surprised look.

“My place is probably safer than the hall,” he says.

Elena nods and gives him a grateful smile. “Thanks,” she says and steps inside, Chloe on her heels.

de la Cruz glances suspiciously at her. “Hang on, I was letting the reporter in. Who the hell are _you_?”

Chloe hesitates, probably trying to come up with a fake name or cover story, and Elena jumps on the opportunity. “This is my associate, Chloe Frazer,” she says. “She’s been working with me on this investigation from the beginning.”

He doesn’t look any less suspicious, but he nods and lets them both in. Elena doesn’t miss the fact that he locks the deadbolt and rehooks the chain, and from the way Chloe’s looking at the windows, neither does she. “Sorry about the mess,” he mutters and moves past them to clear random piles of electronics, clothes, and pizza boxes off of about a third of the couch.

Elena pulls her notebook and a pencil out of her pocket, then sits down. Eying the remaining debris on the couch, Chloe sits right next to her, half-hunched over to take up less space but also ready to lunge at de la Cruz if he makes the wrong move. Elena shifts over to add about half an inch of space between herself and Chloe, then thumbs her notebook open. “How long have you been working for Leavitt?”

“Few years,” he says as he sits down in the computer chair near the desk. “I work for a lot of other people, though.”

“Do your other clients pay you to send incriminating e-mails too?” Chloe asks, laying on the false cheer.

Elena takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. She really shouldn’t be surprised-- Chloe’s not a reporter, she’s a pissed-off friend. Still, this whole thing could collapse if they don’t handle this carefully. She shoots Chloe a quick, sideways warning glare, then looks back at de la Cruz. “Well?” she prompts, when he just keeps staring at them in mild terror.

“Are you guys cops?”

It takes a moment, but Chloe cracks up, laughing so hard that she elbows Elena several times. Elena heaves a sigh and shakes her head. How professional. “No,” she says. “No, we’re not. I’m an investigative reporter. I’m not allowed to lie about that.” She unclips her press pass and holds it out for him to examine.

He studies it for a few seconds, then hands it back. “Where’s hers?” he asks, nodding at Chloe, who’s still giggling a bit.

“She’s not a reporter,” Elena says. “But she’s also _definitely_ not a cop.” About as far from a cop as one could get without actually being in jail (and with Nate’s record, she’s willing to bet Chloe’s had some jail time too), but that wasn’t information that needed to be shared.

de la Cruz eyes them both for a long moment, during which Chloe finally settles down. “You won’t publish my name?” he asks. “I don’t want to go to jail over this. He said if the police got involved, he’d ruin me.”

Elena glances at Chloe again. That sounds familiar. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

“This started about a year ago…”

It takes a while-- long enough that Chloe shoves some of his things off the couch for some more space-- but eventually he explains that while he’d done some shady work for Leavitt in the past, it was only two months ago that it crossed over into breaking the law. He said he’d asked for more money after the fact, which made Chloe mutter “stupid of you” under her breath, and Leavitt had turned him down. He’d also said that if de la Cruz tried to go to the police or argued about payment again, he’d have him thrown in jail.

“So when he told me to send those e-mails from that woman’s computer, I didn’t really have a choice,” he says.

Elena sighs, tapping the end of her pencil against the page. He did have a choice, he could’ve gone to the cops and taken the risk instead of involving an innocent person, but it was a little late for that.

“‘That woman’,” Chloe repeats, pushing something shiny and silver off the couch, “is my _friend_.”

He lets out an exasperated sigh and spreads his hands. “Look, I’m sorry,” he says. “There’s not much I can do about it now, though.”

Elena frowns. There is something he can do, of course, but she isn’t sure he’ll want to cooperate with her, give an on-camera interview and everything, out of the goodness of his heart. “Look--”

“There _is_ something you can do,” Chloe interrupts, her voice far too even for the glare she’s giving him. “You can lawyer up, play the ‘I was blackmailed too’ card, and probably get away with a shorter sentence. I’m speaking from experience here; it’s a bloody good card to play. Frankly, I actually think you deserve the longer sentence, but since this would be helping a friend, I _may_ be willing to share the phone number of an excellent lawyer I have on speed dial if you help us out.”

Elena raises her eyebrows and blinks at Chloe. She hadn’t been expecting that. Nor had de la Cruz, going by the look on his face. “What Leavitt did, and your involvement in it, is going to come out when I break this story,” Elena says. “If you work with me, agree to a formal interview, you can have some control over how you end up looking. You’re not getting out of this scot-free, but you can minimize the damage.”

de la Cruz’s mouth sets in a thin line while he considers it. Eventually, he turns to Chloe. “What’s that phone number?”

They wrap things up quickly, albeit awkwardly. Elena says she’ll be in touch, and de la Cruz says he’ll be calling this lawyer first thing in the morning. Elena just hopes that the lawyer won’t advise him to not talk to her at all. “So,” she says after he’s shut the door behind them, “that went well.” Much to her surprise.

“I didn’t think he’d talk,” Chloe replies, examining her nails. “Let alone agree to the interview.”

Elena shrugs and starts down the hall. “Your ‘advice’ certainly helped that along,” she says. She glances at her watch. “I hope I can get a camera crew up here by tomorrow morning.” The sooner she started getting footage together, the better. Get something shot and sent to the local networks in the next few days. Then Gretchen would be out of prison, Leavitt would be on his way _to_ prison, and she could go home.

“Let me know if there’s any way I can help,” says Chloe. “Even if it’s just the coffee run -- I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m quite a good driver.”

Elena laughs and pushes open the door to the stairs. “From what I’ve heard, you’re the best in the business,” she says, holding the door for her.

*

Half-listening to some talkback show, Chloe scrolls through her e-mail inbox. Besides the long-suffering e-mail from Nate agreeing to be her work reference “as usual” (“but can you ask them to call at east coast times”, he adds, “that last guy called at 5 in the morning”), she’s still waiting for more messages about potential jobs. She’s e-mailed about a few offers, but with the time differences, they might not get back to her until she’s asleep.

The show finishes, and Chloe sits up as the news comes on. She’s not usually a big news watcher, but Elena had texted her a time and a channel--

“Good evening, Sacramento. Our top story tonight-- Lieutenant Governor Robert Leavitt has been implicated in a sweeping network of embezzlement, money laundering, and blackmail. We go now to a special report.”

The screen fades from the news desk to the capitol building, accompanied by a voice-over from Elena. “For nearly six years, Lieutenant Governor Leavitt has stolen money from state accounts, and used intimidation and blackmail to silence anyone who might have threatened his scheme. Records show that over two million dollars have been taken…”

Chloe looks away from the television as her phone buzzes. She picks it up to read the new text message from Elena.

> **Elena Fisher**  
>  Inside sources say that Gretchen should be out of jail by tomorrow afternoon.

Chloe finds herself grinning. Never mind the embezzlement going public, _this_ was what she’d been looking forward to.

> **Chloe Frazer**  
>  tel ur inside sources thx 4 me
> 
> **Elena Fisher**  
>  Will do. Want to get drinks tomorrow night? I think we’ve earned them.
> 
> **Chloe Frazer**  
>  1st rounds on me

*

Elena pays the cabbie and steps out onto the sidewalk. Chloe had texted her the address of a hotel with a note that the “bars upstairs.” As she steps off the escalator, she’s a bit surprised that Chloe picked such a nice place-- and immediately feels guilty for being surprised. She shakes her head and looks around. After a few seconds, she spots Chloe and another woman sitting at a corner table, chatting over drinks. Chloe looks up, catches her eye, and waves her over.

“Elena, this is Gretchen Welch, my friend and former coworker,” Chloe says; Gretchen offers a hand to shake. “Gretchen, this is Elena Fisher, my reporter friend who did your story.”

Elena smiles and shakes Gretchen’s hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you,” she says. “Everything got cleared up with the charges, right?” She’s got a ticket home tomorrow, but she’ll risk Nate whining (and possibly flying out here) if anything else needs to be taken care of.

“Yes, that worked out fine,” Gretchen replies happily. “All thanks to you! Thank you so much for exposing what Leavitt was really up to.”

“Just doing my job,” Elena says and ignores the look on Chloe’s face. This is part of why she does the job, though. It’s not often that she gets to talk to the people she’s helped. “I’m glad everything worked out for you.”

“It’s enough to put a girl off state politics,” says Gretchen. “I’m thinking about just moving to the country and raising goats…”

“Yaks are nicer,” Chloe says seriously.

“Yaks are nice,” Elena agrees. “Either would be better than corrupt politicians.”

“Or history.” Elena blinks, but Gretchen’s starting to stand, gathering her purse and phone. “Well, my own bed and pajamas are calling my name. It was really nice to meet you, Elena.”

Elena nods. “Take care,” she says.

Gretchen leans down to hug Chloe goodbye, and after a second, Chloe hugs her back. When they both withdraw, Gretchen adds, “We’ll catch up again some time.”

“Definitely,” Chloe agrees, and they watch her leave.

Elena slides into Gretchen’s vacated seat and raises her eyebrows at Chloe. “You didn’t tell her a thing about your role in all this, did you,” she guesses. The dig at history had been odd, but more interesting was the fact that Gretchen’s thanks had been aimed solely at her.

“‘Hey, Gretchen, I copied some documents, inadvertently leading to your arrest, and then I tried not to punch a guy,’” Chloe suggests. “Yes, I’m sure that would have gone down well.”

Elena gives her a wry smile. “I’d have said that you risked your own safety several times to help a friend,” she says. “And that I wouldn’t have broken this story without your help.”

Chloe purses her lips, considering this, then shakes her head. “That’s just a reporter’s spin on what actually happened.”

Elena grins and puts a hand to her chest. “I report the _facts_ ,” she says. “But don’t worry. I’ll keep this part off the record.” Except for all the stuff she’s already told Nate. Ah, well. What Chloe doesn’t know can’t hurt her.

“Don’t expect a statement any time soon,” Chloe advises, before sliding a cocktail menu over. “I believe I said the first round was on me?”

Elena nods and glances over the menu. She flags down a passing waiter, who delivers a glass of wine with impressive speed. “To justice served,” she says, holding her glass out to Chloe to toast.

“To being out of a job,” Chloe adds wryly, holding up her own glass. “Again.”

“Maybe stay away from the legal jobs this time,” Elena says. “They seem to give you a lot of trouble.”

“I’ll drink to that!”

**Author's Note:**

> No actual Californian Lieutenant Governors, mercenaries, buildings, or vehicles were harmed in the making of this fic. Nate was flabbergasted.


End file.
